


Great Things

by Prim_the_Amazing



Category: Campaign (Podcast)
Genre: Backstory, Gen, headcanons galore, this is gonna get jossed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-13
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:06:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24168568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prim_the_Amazing/pseuds/Prim_the_Amazing
Summary: When Jonnit is ten, an old man moves to Akaron. His skin is wrinkled and leathery and tan, and he’s covered in blue tattoos, going down his arms and up his neck to curl at the edges of his face. He’s only seen him from a distance so far, but he looks different from everyone else in a wildly interesting way.“He was a sailor, apparently,” his dad says in a hush to his mom. The fact that they’re furtively speaking in the kitchen, trying to be out of earshot from Jonnit, is what makes him creep as close as he can and listen in keenly, is what lets him know that what they’re talking about is important in some way.“You mean an airiner?” his mom asks.“No,” dad says. “I don’t mean an airiner.”There’s a palpable moment of silence from the kitchen.
Relationships: Jonnit Kessler & Hip
Comments: 4
Kudos: 12
Collections: Fandom Trumps Hate 2020





	Great Things

**Author's Note:**

  * For [vands38](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vands38/gifts).



Jonnit Kessler is meant for great things. 

A lot of other kids his age think so as well. Their parents keep telling them so, after all. That they’re special, that they can do whatever they set their mind to. 

Jonnit has a sneaking suspicion that it may be rude of him to say so, but honestly, that just can’t possibly be true. Not everyone can be meant for great things, because then it wouldn’t be great. Most people are normal and boring, and live normal and boring lives. Which is fine, that’s valid, Jonnit’s friends with a lot of normal and boring people. His  _ family _ is normal and boring. He’s not trying to act better-than-you, here. It’s totally okay to be normal and boring! He just  _ knows _ that he’s not, that he’s meant to be special and important, not like all those other kids that only  _ think _ they are simply because that’s what their parents told them. 

For one thing, Jonnit’s parents have never told him that he’s going to do great things even once in his entire life. Trust him, he’s been paying attention. 

They’re not mean or bad parents. It’s just that from the first moment he was born, they took one look at him and knew that he was meant for great things as well. Not the way all of those other parents said it, hoped it, thought it. They  _ knew.  _

And it turns out, that’s apparently kind of a scary thing to know about your kid, especially when he’s still just a baby with three eyes that won’t open. 

Instead, his dad says, “You’re going to be an excellent farmer some day, Jonnit,” with the same forceful hope that other dads say ‘some day you’re going to be an excellent leader’ or ‘some day you’re going to travel the world.’ 

Instead, his mom says, “You’re such a good and kind brother, Jonnit,” in a way that says ‘so stay here with her in this small safe village forever, like a good and kind brother would.’ 

It makes him sort of sad sometimes, if he thinks about it too hard. For their sakes, that is. They love him and just want for him to be safe, which makes sense, which is sweet. But they’re fighting a losing battle, and he knows they know it. Can see it in their eyes. Living a safe life was never an option for him, and it’s never going to be. 

He’s secretly a little bit glad, that him being special and important is a foregone conclusion, something that was decided for him the moment he was born. Because if he actually had a  _ choice-- _ well. He’d pick being fated for greatness all over again without hesitation, but this time he’d have to feel kinda bad about it when mom tries to matchmake him with local girls and boys that’ll keep him here, when dad talks about building his house with him on their plot of land, if he doesn’t want to live in the same building as his parents when he gets married and starts having kids of his own. He’d have to feel guilty for knowingly choosing something that’s going to make his parents worried and scared for him, when he could have just let them keep him close and safe for the rest of their lives. 

But thankfully, choice has nothing to do with it. It’s destiny. Everyone knows that you can’t fight destiny. So why even try? 

“What are you smiling about?” his little sister, Zona, asks him as they eat breakfast together. 

“Inevitability,” he says. She rolls her eyes at him. 

When Jonnit is ten, an old man moves to Akaron. His skin is wrinkled and leathery and tan, and he’s covered in blue tattoos, going down his arms and up his neck to curl at the edges of his face. He’s only seen him from a distance so far, but he looks  _ different _ from everyone else in a wildly interesting way. 

“He was a sailor, apparently,” his dad says in a hush to his mom. The fact that they’re furtively speaking in the kitchen, trying to be out of earshot from Jonnit, is what makes him creep as close as he can and listen in keenly, is what lets him know that what they’re talking about is important in some way. 

“You mean an airiner?” his mom asks. 

“No,” dad says. “I don’t mean an airiner.” 

There’s a palpable moment of silence from the kitchen. 

“Is he… safe?” mom asks eventually, hesitating, trepidatious. 

“He was inspected thoroughly before he was allowed to settle her. No Mark on him, supposedly.” 

“Oh,” mom says, sounding deeply relieved. “Oh, good.” And then, “He must have been one of the last, then. Got out just in time.” 

“Exactly.” 

“... We should keep Jonnit away from him.” 

_ “Exactly.”  _

Jonnit leaves the house to go and find the old man right then and there. If his parents don’t want him to do anything with the old man, then that must mean that he’s going to help Jonnit do the last thing his parents want for him to do: 

Discover his destiny. 

It’s not hard, finding the old man. Akaron’s a small town, and it’s been a long while since someone who wasn’t local moved in permanently. Everyone’s buzzing about it. 

The old man has moved into the mill that’s been empty and abandoned since old Mrs. Bayers died three years ago, during the winter. No one had needed it, simply enough. Everyone else already had a home, a trade. There were other mills. And so, it was given to the old man freely once they’d ascertained that he didn’t have a Mark. 

(Jonnit’s a little bit disappointed about that last part. Sure, Marked sailors are kinda scary and spooky, but they also sound  _ exciting, _ and he’s never actually seen one before. Only heard tales and bedtime stories.) 

Jonnit walks up the long empty path to the Bayers mill at the edge of the village, and after a long moment of careful consideration, he knocks on the old man’s door. 

Silence. Is he not home? Did he not hear Jonnit? Old people have bad hearing, after all. He knocks again, more firmly. 

“No need to pound the door off the hinges,” the man’s muffled voice calls out from behind the door, and Jonnit feels a rush of nerves all of a sudden now that it looks like he’ll actually be talking to this sailor. He takes a deep breath, slaps both hands to his face, pumps his fists in the air, and then stands ramrod straight, hands in tight fists at his sides, chin tilted up, eyes as steely as he can make them. 

The footsteps towards the door are slow, limping. It feels like an eternity until the door finally creaks open. 

The old man looks straight over Jonnit’s head. Jonnit clears his throat and the old man looks down at him. Squints at him, as if he doesn’t know what to make of him. Jonnit makes sure to give him his most charming grin, and on impulse, sticks his hand out for a shaking too. 

“Hi! Hello!” he says. “I’m Jonnit Kessler, and it’s really nice to meet you!” 

After a long moment of just staring at him, and Jonnit determinedly keeping his smile on, the old man reaches his hand out and takes Jonnit’s hand. Jonnit tries to squeeze as hard as he can, because a firm handshake is good, right? 

“Hip,” the old man says. 

“Because you have a bad hip?” Jonnit asks. 

“What?” Hip asks. “No. How old do you think I am?” 

“Uhhhh--” In a flash of inspiration, and also remembering his mom chastising him and telling him that it’s rude to ask for a lady’s age, he decides to lowball it a bit in an inexpert stab in the direction of charm. “Sixty?” 

“SIXTY?” Hip shouts back incredulously. 

Jonnit winces. Yeah, okay, that was a bit much, he should’ve gone for seventy-- 

“I’m  _ forty, _ you brat,” Hip says. 

Jonnit gapes. 

“Oh, piss off,” he grumbles, and shuts the door in Jonnit’s face. 

“Wait,” he says blankly, looking at the wood of the door. That was not the way that was supposed to go, is all that he can think. “Wait, I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I didn’t know-- are you sick or something? Is it a curse?” 

“Go away!” Hip shouts through the closed door. 

Jonnit groans and tugs at his hair.  _ Definitely _ not the way it had been supposed to go. 

He doesn’t give up, of course. He just beats a tactical retreat for the day. And the next day, he comes prepared. 

He knocks on the door. Slow footsteps limp towards the door. It opens. This time, Jonnit doesn’t have to clear his throat to make Hip look down. 

Hip groans. “What do you want, kid.” 

“Just to say hi to my new neighbor, of course!” Jonnit says brightly. 

Hip looks pointedly at the distinct lack of houses within eyesight of his mill. There’s a small cresting hill cutting off his view from the rest of the town. 

“Er,” Jonnit says awkwardly, and then he remembers his preparations. Like a trump card, he gestures with his hands, showing off the oranges he’s got cradled in his shirt like a kangaroo pouch. At least half a dozen of them, all ripe. “A housewarming gift! For you!” 

“Hmm,” Hip says. He leans down and takes one of the oranges from Jonnit’s shirt, and inspects it suspiciously. He looks thoughtfully down at Jonnit, who tries his best to look like definitely-not-a-brat. Hip sighs, and then steps to the side so that there’s space for Jonnit to duck in underneath his arm into the mill. “Yeah, alright. I’m not one to turn down a bribe.”

_ “Yes!” _ Jonnit doesn’t waste time in entering, before Hip changes his mind. He looks curiously around the mill, and is fascinated with what he sees. The place is covered in trinkets, bottles, books, stuff that doesn’t look like it’d ever come from Akaron. He wants to reach out and touch some of it, but he’s got his hands full keeping his shirt stretched for the oranges. 

“Settle down,” Hip says after he’s limped up to a chair, and then he-- doesn’t so much sit down in it as he slowly and carefully collapses. 

“Are you  _ sure _ you weren’t named after a bad hip?” Jonnit asks. 

“It’s a bad  _ knee _ that I’ve got,” he says grumpily. “Got a pistol shot right to it. Blessing in disguise, really. Got me out of the profession just in the nick of time.”

“Ohhh,” he says, and he settles down on the floor criss-cross applesauce. He lets go of his shirt, and lets the oranges roll into his lap or onto the floor, wherever they wanna go. He takes one of them and starts idly peeling it, keeping his eyes on the more interesting stuff, like Hip and all of his knicknacks. “So why are you named, uh, that?” 

“What, you don’t think my ma’ gave it to me?” Hip asks, and he almost sounds amused, Jonnit thinks. 

Jonnit wrinkles his nose skeptically. “That’d be like being named Ear or Elbow.” 

Hip barks a laugh, and then reaches into his vest. “Yeah, okay, you’ve got me, kid. This is why my crew have been calling me Hip for the last three decades, and it’d feel bizarre to be called anything else.” And he reaches out a hip flask, uncaps it, and takes a quick drink before twisting the cap back on and putting it back in his vest. 

“Oh, so you’ve got a drinking problem,” Jonnit says. 

Hip glares at him. “I do not! I just like a lil’ sip now and then.” 

“You said you were forty, but people have been calling you Hip for three decades?” 

“Well la dee dah,  _ someone _ knows their math.” 

He does. Jonnit suspects it’s because his parents hope that it might encourage him to get some sort of boring profession that involves a lot of numbers if he doesn’t want to be a farmer, like an accountant. 

“No judgement!” Jonnit hurries to assure him. “It’s-- it’s very cool, very catchy. I wish  _ I _ had a pirate nickname.” 

“No one said nothing about pirates,” Hip says quickly. 

Jonnit gives him an incredulous look. A look that takes in all of Hip as he is. “Yeah, but--” 

“You can’t prove anything,” Hip interrupts him. 

“But--” 

“Lies and slander!” 

“Okay, but--” 

“Do you want to get kicked out of my home?” 

Jonnit sincerely doubts Hip can so much as kick a can, with that knee of his. “No!” he says in a panic anyways. 

“Then stop harping on about fanciful tales of piracy. I’ve only ever worked on merchant ships, and that’s final. Now give me some of that orange.” 

Jonnit looks down at the freshly peeled orange in his hand, and promptly gives Hip half of the boats. Hip pops one into his mouth, and makes a content noise and settles into his chair, closing his eyes as if savoring it like a fine cigar. Jonnit doesn’t get what the big deal is; you can’t throw a rock without hitting an orange tree around here. 

But then again, Hip isn’t  _ from _ around here. Excitement kicks back up in Jonnit’s gut. 

“What’s that?” Jonnit asks, pointing at one of the knicknacks. 

Hip doesn’t open his eyes. “You steal these, boy?” 

“... You can’t prove anything.” 

This makes Hip crack up, gratifyingly. “You’re a quick learner, I’ll give you that.” 

“I know,” Jonnit says simply, because he does and he is. 

Hip snorts. “Confident, too.” 

“Yep!” Curiosity pricks at him again. “So  _ are _ you cursed?” 

The amusement goes out of Hip’s face, and he opens his eyes to pin Jonnit to the floor with his gaze. “I am not Marked,” he says, enunciating it very clearly. “I was searched. The mayor can confirm it.” 

“Oh, no, not like that! I mean, you know… that you look so _ old.” _

“... I oughta kick you out,” Hip says slowly. He’s not laughing, but at least he doesn’t look so grim any longer. This somehow feels like a lighter sort of anger, softer and harmless. 

“But then who’s gonna peel you these oranges?” Jonnit asks, and starts peeling the next one in demonstration. 

“You drive a hard bargain.” He eats another orange boat, before he goes on. “And I don’t look old. I’m just  _ weathered. _ Seasoned. This is what a veteran sailor looks like, boy. It’s a hard life, and the sun dries you out like a piece of leather.” 

He sure looks old to Jonnit, but he decides to drop it. Just in case Hip really  _ does  _ kick him out over it. He points at a knick knack again. “Seriously, what is all of this stuff, though?” 

“Souvenirs,” Hip finally answers. He looks at what Jonnit’s pointing at in particular and smiles fondly. “That one’s a carved replica of the trophy from Burza Nyth’s bird tournament. Most fun spectacle I’d seen in years.” 

“Oh,” Jonnit says, simultaneously excited to hear the name of a town he’s never heard of before and that  _ bird tournaments _ are apparently a thing, and also a little bit disappointed that it isn’t some kind of magical artefact found on a treasure hunt. “Why did you buy it?” 

“Who says I bought it?” Hip asks, and laughs. Jonnit smiles. “I got it for the same reason everyone gets a souvenir. As a way to help them remember the fond memories. Burza Nyth was a  _ great  _ time, real exciting.” 

Jonnit cranes his head around. “So are all of these things souvenirs?” 

“Yup.” Hip pops the P. “Each one from a different place, to help me remember a different favorite memory.” 

Each one for a different place. Each one for a different favorite memory. Jonnit looks at the absolute  _ hoard _ of things put up on shelves and arranged on tables and mantle piece and nailed to the wall, and he  _ wants. _ This must be what dragons feel like, to want something so intensely, so much. Except he doesn’t want gold (although gold would be welcome). He wants _ this. _ He wants to have gone to this many places, to have this many precious memories. 

“What’s _ that _ one?” he asks eagerly, pointing to the next souvenir. “What place is it from? What memory is it about?” 

“Are you gonna ask that about every single trinket I have?” 

“Yes!” 

Hip snorts. “You don’t think I’ve got better things to do with my time?” 

Considering the lack of family, friends, and job, no, Jonnit does not think Hip has better things to do with his time than tell stories about his amazing, exciting pirate life to a kid who’s meant for great things. Wisely, he does not say this. 

“I’ll give you something in exchange!” he offers on an impulse. “I’ll… I’ll give you…” He starts turning his pockets out, turning out some lint, a handkerchief, a cool rock he found the other day, a loose button he slipped into his pocket to remember to sew on for later-- 

“How about,” Hip (who, despite his words, also doesn’t think that he’s got better things to do with his time now that he thinks about it, and has been feeling a mite lonely in the last few months after being used to being packed onto a ship along with an entire crew like a can of sardines for his entire life until now, and is finding himself pleasantly surprised by how entertaining this boy is, with all of his enthusiasm and curiosity and wonder, and is this why people have kids?) suggest, “you make sure to keep these oranges coming,  _ wherever _ you’re getting them from, free of charge, and I’ll answer whatever question you want?” 

“Deal!” Jonnit says, amazed by this incredible bargain, and eager to snap it up before Hip changes his mind. Stealing oranges is as easy as, as-- a really easy thing, is what it is. “I’ll be your supplier, Hip.” 

Hip spits into his palm and leans forward in his chair, holding his hand out and down to Jonnit. Jonnit grimaces at it, and then hurriedly tries to wipe the expression of his face, because if spitting into your hand before doing a handshake is a pirate thing, then he’s definitely going to be okay with it, even if it’s kind of icky. Pirates are cool, and  _ Jonnit’s _ cool. Or at least, he’s going to be. He’s going to be the goddamned coolest. 

He spits into his hand and clasps it to Hip. 

“You didn’t have to snort a loogie into it,” Hip says. 

“Okay, noted,” Jonnit says, who is having an incredibly unpleasant textural experience and trying not to gag about it. 

“... Let’s wash our hands.” 

“Oh god, yes  _ please.”  _

Jonnit does steal Hip some oranges. Every single day, until he’s sick of them and then he steals him some other stuff for variety. Sometimes he doesn’t even steal it! Like when the Kessler family has cottage pie for dinner and they accidentally made a bit much, Jonnit takes some of those leftovers to Hip the next day. Not having a lot of cooking experience, the man seems to appreciate this very much. 

And in return, Jonnit asks Hip questions. Every single day, until Jonnit has the full story behind every single souvenir in Hip’s home. And then he starts asking him about other things, because Jonnit is full of questions, and if he has to wait to grow up a bit more before he gets to see the world he’ll at least have as detailed of a description of it as possible to tide him over until he can go and see it for himself. 

He listens to Hip talk until he’s hoarse, and then he talks some himself when Hip needs to rest his voice for a bit. He doesn’t talk about Akaron. Oh, sure, it’s a nice town, but he’s kind of been itching to get out of it for the last… as long as he can remember. 

Instead, he talks about how much he wants to be out there, how he can’t wait, all of the things he’s going to do and all of the places he’s going to see and all of the people he’s going to meet. 

“I’ll be a skyjack!” he says, because that’s something he’s decided recently. A skyjack is like a pirate, except for out in the skies instead of the seas. Hip has made it more than clear enough that sailing on the seas just isn’t an option any longer, but Jonnit wants to be like him. He wants to have enough souvenirs of places and memories to fill up an entire house when he finally gets shot in the knee during a boarding and has to retire early, just in time not to be slaughtered by his own Marked captain along with the rest of the crew. 

(Hip does not have great intuition about what is and isn’t appropriate to tell a ten year old boy. Jonnit being openly fascinated and dazzled by his grim and grizzly tales is not helping.) 

“Why?” Hip asks, which stops Jonnit short. 

_ “Why?”  _

“Yeah, why? You want to see the world, right? Plenty of ways to do that. Become a merchant.” 

Jonnit scrunches up his face in distaste. Merchant is one of the jobs his parents have hopefully suggested to him at some point, although not as often as they suggest jobs that’ll keep him in Akaron. This, to Jonnit, means that merchant is something he’d want to be more than a farmer, but less than he wants to be a skyjack. 

“I want to have adventures!” he protests. “I don’t just want to see the world, I want to live in it! Find treasure! Fight bad guys! Save the day!” 

“I wouldn’t call skyjacks the ‘good guys’. They’re definitely not vigilantes that save the day.” Jonnit notes that Hip doesn’t say anything about finding treasure. 

“Hiiiiiip,” he complains. He gets enough of this from his own parents. Hip isn’t supposed to be like this too! “Why don’t you want for me to be a skyjack?” 

“Because skyjacks die.” 

“Well, I’m not going to die,” Jonnit declares confidently. 

“That’s not a decision you get to make. Look, I just don’t see why you’re so eager to leave your town. You know how many people would kill to live somewhere landlocked? I ran as far away from the ocean as I could, after I found out what happened to my old crew.” 

“Because I’m not meant to live a safe and peaceful life in the small village I was born in,” he says. 

“You say that like it’s a fact, but staying here is an option. You could be happy here. You’re already happy, aren’t you?” 

Yes, he is. Jonnit loves his family, and, increasingly, Hip as well. And he loves climbing the trees and jumping the branches and never not even once falling down and breaking his leg like all of the other kids have done at least once, and Mrs. Nora who lives next door and lets him read all of her fictional adventure books is a great lady, and Lily the farm cat down the road that lets him pet her and is so incredibly adorable, and how mom makes his favorite meal just so, and the way dad claps him on the back when he’s done something to make him proud, and playing with Zona. He’s surrounded by love, and he’s pretty damned happy. 

But he’s not  _ content _ . This is a waiting period, the before, the beginning, the status quo to eventually be broken by amazing and thrilling new things.  _ Once upon a time a boy named Jonnit lived in a village called Akaron, but then one day everything changed…  _

He needs for Hip to  _ understand _ that. His parents refuse to, Zona doesn’t get it, and his friends don’t really take it seriously when he says that he’s gonna leave one day and be someone amazing. He needs for at least one person to understand. He thought that person was Hip. But here Hip is, trying to talk Jonnit down into smaller and safer dreams, because he’s come to care about him the way Jonnit cares about him. And caring about Jonnit apparently means to want for him to never experience anything new, anything exciting, anything thrilling. To never be put in harm's way. 

He gets it. He gets it. But it’s so  _ frustrating. _ He  _ will _ be put in harm’s way, he  _ will _ live an exciting, thrilling, dangerous life, and he’d love it if his loved ones would just stop trying to fight against something  _ inevitable.  _

“You don’t understand,” he says. 

“Jonnit--” Hip says, and he sounds so much like his parents in that moment that Jonnit does something without really thinking it through. He’s ten years old, and he wants for Hip to understand. 

Jonnit takes his headband off. 

It’s the first time he’s ever done it in front of someone who isn’t his family. They all treat it like it’s perfectly normal, even if mom and dad still periodically check in to make sure that he knows that he has to keep his headband on, always, as if he’s forgotten somehow. Zona even seems to think it’s boring, unremarkable. In her world, her big brother has always had a third eye. So what? What’s the big deal? 

_ ‘Where’s Sammy’s eye?’ _ she’d asked once, confused, when they’d been playing over at a friends house. 

_ ‘What? His eyes are right there,’ _ Samantha, Sammy’s little sister, had said, just as confused as Zona. 

_ ‘No, I mean his big brother eye.’  _

And then Jonnit had swooped in, laughing uncomfortably and making excuses for them having to suddenly leave, it was so great hanging out with you guys, really, thanks, see you tomorrow. 

Everyone who knows about Jonnit’s eye has known about it for so long that it’s just another part of him. This is the first time he’s showing it to someone else. By the time he brings his hand down, orange bandana clutched between the fingers, his heart is hammering with sudden and intense regret, anticipation, dread, excitement. 

Hip is gaping at him. 

“... You better close that before some flies land in there,” he jokes nervously, after a long, long silence. 

Hip closes his mouth with a click. 

“Oh,” he says, after another long few nerve wracking moments. “Huh. Yeah, I can… I can see why you think you’re so special, now.” 

_ Because you _ are  _ special, _ goes unsaid but heard. Jonnit feels himself start to relax, slightly. 

“I’m really, uh, relieved that you’re taking this so well,” he says. He’d always gotten the impression from his parents that anyone outside of the family finding out his third eye would be  _ horrible. _ He’d acted on impulse, but he’s pleasantly surprised that there hasn’t been any shocked screaming so far. 

But of course there isn’t. It’s  _ Hip.  _ He’s been all around the world, seen all sorts of things. Surely Jonnit’s eye can’t be that shocking to someone like him, right? 

He’s struck by a sudden worry, one he’s never had before in his life. 

“Uh huh,” Hip says numbly. 

“Say, Hip… have you-- have you ever heard about anyone like me? Seen anyone like me?” 

“Only in fairytales,” Hip mumbles. “What I thought were fairy tales, at least.” 

Jonnit sighs, deeply relieved. He’s not a dime a dozen, he wasn’t mistaken. He’s not just rare in Akaron, he’s rare in the whole world. Thank god. 

“Good, great. Oh! I, I should have asked for this  _ before _ I showed you my eye, probably-- I’m actually not supposed to show you this at all, please don’t tell my parents-- but please don’t tell anyone about this? About me?” 

Hip gives the closed eye on his forehead a long, long look. And then he gives Jonnit a long, long look, which is different, even though the third eye is on him. And he cracks a wry little smile. 

“And give up my main supplier? What kind of fool do you take me for?” 

Jonnit laughs, surprised and bright. Hip, meanwhile, puts a serious, considering expression on his face while Jonnit relaxes and grins at him, feeling bubbly and a little bit dizzy with relief and the aftershocks of adrenaline over how well showing his third eye to someone who isn’t a Kessler has gone for him. It’s the first time he can ever remember someone seeing his eye for the first time. The gobsmacked look on Hip’s face is sort of hilarious in hindsight, now that he isn’t tensely waiting for his reaction. 

“Alright,” Hip says. “Alright. I see how it is. Doesn’t matter what anyone tells ya, you’re heading out there to put your mark on the world. Fate’s got ideas in store for you.” 

_ “Yes,” _ Jonnit agrees, so profusely relieved that someone else finally gets it. 

“So we’re gonna have to prepare you, then.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“You think just because you’ve got some special extra eyeball in your skull that everything’s gonna come easy to ya? No. It just means that something  _ is _ going to happen to you. You’re gonna need to be ready for it. You’re gonna need to know how to fight, how to survive by the skin of your teeth.” Hip grins, his teeth yellowed by tobacco and whatever else, a few of them already missing. Really, he looks absolutely terrible for a forty year old.  _ Haggard. _ “Luckily, you’ve got a lifelong expert on that right here. Only survivor of my crew, I ever tell you that?” 

“A few times.” Jonnit  _ beams. _ “Are you going to show me how to swordfight? How to swing on ropes across ships like vines? How to use cannons?” 

Hip snorts. “Settle down, do I look like I’ve got cannons squirreled away in here? I’ll do my best with what I’ve got. First thing first.” And Hip reaches into his vest, draws something out of it, and throws it at Jonnit. He fumbles for it, just barely manages to catch it. He looks. It’s a sheathed knife, the leather of its holster old and soft with use. “Gotta start with the basics. That’s yours now. You’re  _ welcome.”  _

Jonnit looks back up towards Hip. “I thought you were gonna give me your flask there for a moment.” 

Hip shoots him an  _ indignant _ look. “You’re _ ten.”  _

“Which is how old you were when you started!” 

“Don’t be a smartass! I’m giving you a knife, that’s more than enough for a ten year old! You’ll be getting your flask when you’re thirteen, as is proper!” 

The hilt of the knife fits in his hand perfectly. (He’s going to make his first kill with it, one day.)

Jonnit laughs, delighted, and so, so excited. He’s meant for great things, and he’s finally getting ready for them. 

More importantly, someone else finally agrees with him. Yes, Hip agrees. Jonnit is meant for great things. It means so much to him. Jonnit is never going to forget this, he swears to himself. No matter how long and spectacularly he lives, he’s never going to forget this old washed up pirate who believed in him when he so desperately wanted for someone to do just that. 

He’s never going to forget Hip. He really means it. 


End file.
